


Mediocris: The Shopkeep and the Vampire

by Everyday_Im_Preaching



Series: Monster Family AU [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dark, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Monster Family AU, Monsters, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Obsession, Pining, Poor Life Choices, Shopkeep!Dipper, vampire!Bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Preaching
Summary: It was just a phone call. He punched in a wrong digit somewhere, didn't read the screen correctly--but life isn't forgiving of our mistakes, and more often than not we're forced to pay for them, learn from them. And Dipper's about to learn a hard lesson.





	1. Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the warning please! 
> 
> Hello and welcome! It's been awhile, hasn't it? Life sucks. I'm trying not to rain on anyone's parade, so let's get right on to it, shall we? If you like this fic and are excited to see more, please leave a comment below!

 

“It’s fucking  _ freezing  _ out here,” Dipper muttered, hand clutched around his cup of coffee. Snow had just fallen on the city; it dusted sidewalks and mailboxes, kissing at the grass and putting it to sleep with fine, thin blankets of white. The dusk-to-dawn lights hadn’t yet fallen to the weak beginnings of daylight, remaining smooth and warm as they continued to illuminate the shadowy parts of the pathway.

Today was normally Mabel’s turn to tend to the shop. Unfortunately, she’d been called to jury duty last minute, leaving Dipper to open the store—not that he’d minded. The bookstore—Redwood Books—was their own business. A dream they’d had since they were children, and finally brought to life with the help of their great uncles.

The building itself was old and nestled low in the ground. A set of stone steps, now covered in snow and probably ice beneath, led to the front door. Dipper looked at them in distaste, reaching out a gloved hand to grab at the handrail leading down. He’d have to salt the steps and accessibility ramp to the right before the store opened.

“Good morning,” Dipper greeted affectionately as he approached the glass door. “I know you were expecting Mabel, but she’s busy in court today.” He reached into his bag, searching for his keys. “You don’t mind though, do you? I’m sure you’ve got other things to worry about.”

There was a bit of a stick when he tried to open the door, and he made a mental note to have Stan look at it when he came over next. The bells above jingled cheerily at him as he entered, and a grin unfolded on his face—the smell of old books wrapped around him like a particularly friendly cat. Everything was as pristine and clean as he’d left it the night before.  _ It’s good to be home. _

About an hour after the store had opened, and Dipper had settled in behind the counter, it began to snow. It was pointed out by a little girl who came dashing in, snowflakes quickly melting into the cotton of her hat. Her mother followed behind, the bell chiming with each new customer. Dipper greeted them with warm words and a warmer smile and sent them off down an aisle in search of books on dragons.

The mailman came next, shuffling in with snowy boots and an arm full of packages—books for customers, catalogues, office supplies. There were a few letters snuck in here and there for his sister, from men and women with names he didn’t know, and he didn’t care too. He set them aside in a basket beneath the desk. Each package was investigated meticulously, opened and then placed either on a cart of books to be ticketed and set aside for shelving, or tucked away with the shop’s supplies. That was, until he got to the last one.

“Finally,” Dipper muttered, pulling the brown paper from the book. An old regular at the shop had ordered a book two weeks ago—Dipper had called in for it several times, arguing relentlessly after his first order had been accepted, cancelled, and then refunded. He’d even got his sister on the phone with them, annoying them to hell and back in order to get the damned thing.

It wasn’t anything particularly interesting. Just an old book on wicca. It’d been out of print for years, but that hadn’t stopped Dipper from hunting down a copy. Proud of himself, he turned toward the computer to his right, locating the customer’s name, number, and home address. He punched the number into the phone and waited.

“Hello, this is Redwood Books, I’m calling for Margaret Shore?” Dipper greeted, voice cheery and smooth.

“Who?” The voice on the other side of the phone was obviously peeved. “Who is this?”

Dipper cleared his throat, wondering if Ms. Shore was actually a Mrs. “Dipper Pines, from Redwood Books? I’m sorry to bother you, but is Ms. Shore there? Her book’s finally come in, and I’d love to speak with her if I could.”

“There is no Margaret Shore at this residence,” the man hissed out, and Dipper let out a soft grunt, unsettled. “I am a prince of darkness—I am what lingers in the night, what feasts upon your flesh in the ailing light of day—”

“—Alright, then I suppose I will be hanging up now. I seem to have gotten the wrong number,” Dipper cut off, voice clear and sharp as it sliced through the man’s tangent. “Please, have a wonderful rest of your day.”

The man made some sort of noise, choked and unsure, on the other side of the line before stopping Dipper. “No, wait, don’t hang up. Please, I… I’m sorry. That was rude of me. My name is Bill, I… It’s… I’m sorry. Please don’t hang up.”

Something in Dipper’s chest flickered to life at the sheer pain in the man’s voice. Shifting on his seat, Dipper leaned forward and tucked a curl behind his ear. “Alright,” he agreed, rolling his lips between his teeth. “I suppose I won’t. What would you like to talk about, Bill?”

“Oh, anything,  _ anything.  _ It’s just so good to finally have someone to talk to,” Bill admitted; his voice had dropped its aggressive note, turning low and sweet—it was enough to get Dipper biting at his bottom lip and crossing his legs. “It’s rather lonely, out where I live. I just can’t find a good place in the city, you see.”

Dipper nodded. “Living in the city is hard.” He looked up to see the same little girl from earlier coming to the counter, arms full with books. He went to apologise to the man on the other of the phone, when the lights flickered, and then went out—the line went dead in his hand, and he sighed. He carefully placed the phone in its cradle, frowning up at the deadened lights.

“I am so sorry,” Dipper apologised to the woman in front of him. “The storm must be messing with the power lines.” He got up from his seat, grabbing his phone from where it was still charging. “The generator should be on in a few minutes—I’ll place a few calls and see where we are with the power city-wise.”

“Take your time,” the woman soothed, looking down at her daughter. “It’s still light enough in here to read, isn’t it Marnie?” The young girl nodded enthusiastically, darting over to the sitting area. “We’ll be right over here.”

“Thank you so much,” Dipper told her with a smile, before turning back to his phone and dialling the number for his great uncle, Stan.

In the end, the power was fixed, the little girl got her books, and the day progressed as if nothing had happened. The man who’d Dipper called never called back, Ms. Shore came in to get her book, and the day rolled into the next with relative ease. It had snowed throughout the night, and tiny flakes danced around Dipper’s head as he unlocked the door in the morning, like a dazzling, dizzying white halo on top of his curls.

“It’s like you’re a doughnut,” Mabel told him, rubbing her arms to banish the cold. Dipper hummed quietly at her, frowning as the door stuck  _ again.  _ He gave his key a particularly nasty twist, and the door popped open. “A hairy one.”

“What are you on about?” Dipper muttered, stomping his boots clean on the doormat. Mabel followed suit and then shrugged off her jacket, hanging it on the coatrack to the left of the door. “Could you make sure the thermostat is working?”

Mabel nodded, checking the small white box and tapping at it curiously. “Looks like it’s working fine.” She shoved her thumbs into her otherwise empty belt-loops and rocked back on her heels. “Thank you again, for covering me yesterday. Remember, lunch is on me.”

Dipper tilted his head up, offering her a smile. “I love food almost as much as I love books. I never forget a free meal.” He hung his jacket next to his sister’s, shuddering at the cold of the room; they never turned the heaters completely off in the building—it drove the electricity bill up, but after the pipes burst a few years ago and ruined half their stock, Dipper wasn’t going to risk it. But that didn’t mean it still wasn’t  _ cold. _

“Do you think that weird guy will call back today?” Mabel asked, flicking on the nearest light. Dipper shrugged, slipping behind the counter to grab the vacuum. Mabel came over to take it from him, letting him go about grabbing the supplies for the day. “Do you want him to is the better question.”

A light blush dusted Dipper’s cheeks at the memory, and then he blushed harder at the oddity of it. The man was off, that was for certain. But there was something in his voice that had caught Dipper’s interest—he’d thought of the man long into the night, arms folded over his stomach and eyes staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling.

“I don’t know,” Dipper replied honestly, crouching down to grab a roll of receipt paper. “I mean, sounded pretty crotchety. And had a really weird accent.” His cheeks puffed out as he sighed. “He called himself the prince of darkness. I don’t need to have that kind of crazy in my life.”

Mabel’s head popped over the counter, looking at Dipper with a raised eyebrow. “He’s all you could talk about over dinner last night.”

“It was weird,” Dipper defended in an instant. He stood, using his free hand to brush at his jeans. “It’s normal to talk about weird stuff that happens at work.”

“You’re obsessed,” Mabel sing-songed back, waggling the end of the vacuum cord at him. “I’m not going to tell anyone if you have a crush on the phone guy. You have a thing for voices—and from what you’ve told me, you liked his voice a  _ lot. _ ”

Dipper closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can you just vacuum? The store needs to be ready in the next two hours. I really don’t want to talk about my non-existent crush on the phone guy who thinks he’s Dracula.”

Mabel’s lips turned up in a cunning smile, full to the brim with disbelief. She waggled the cord at him once more, before turning around to plug it into an outlet behind her. Dipper knew that it wouldn’t be the last he heard about it, but he would fend off the talk as long as possible.

 

The work day was slow-going, no doubt due to the fat flakes of snow that were constantly lining the streets and pathways. Around noon, an old woman shambled into the shop, dressed as if she’d stepped out of a seventies sitcom. Dipper put the book in his hands down, flashing the woman a pleasant smile. She came up to the register, eyes hooded under heavy lids. Dark eyes peeked at him, and Dipper’s body threatened to turn rigid. To freeze under her gaze.

Unease lodged itself in Dipper’s stomach and his smile almost fell because of it—he fought the feeling. It was just a little old lady, nothing more, nothing less. He tried his best not to fidget, letting his eyes wander to the door—Mabel had darted out to grab them lunch a few minutes ago, and probably hadn’t even reached the sandwich shop down the street yet.

“Welcome to Redwood Books,” he greeted, folding his hands in front of him, turning his smile up an extra watt. “How can I help you today?” The old woman shuffled and shifted in her thick coat, never looking quite at Dipper; he didn’t let his smile fall, but he wished desperately for Mabel to be here. Her patience was godly.

“You are shop, yes?” The accent was thick and obviously Russian. “You buy things. I have something for you to buy.”

Dipper nodded. “We buy a myriad of things, yes. Is there something you’d like to sell today? I’d love to take a look at it.” He placed his hands on the counter; the woman began to pat herself down, looking for the item in question. After a moment of so, she drew forth a small amulet of sorts, and offered it across the table.

Looking closer, but not quite touching, the item seemed to be very, very old. It was made of dark wood and covered in deeply carved markings. Dipper swallowed, flicking his eyes up to meet the old woman’s—they were black but burning, reflecting too much light yet not enough. A chill worked its way down his spine, infecting every inch of him with well-placed fear.

“Ma’am. I’m sorry, but we… we’re a bookstore,” he muttered, voice hushed and soft, billowing up out of the back of his throat like a cloud. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t  _ blink.  _ How long could one go without blinking? Dipper felt as if she hadn’t blinked the entire time she’d been in there.

Her free hand stretched across the counter, grabbing at one of Dipper’s and yanking it forward. He jerked forward, wincing as his torso slammed into the corner of the counter. Before he could pull away, she was flipping his hand over and pushing the small bit of wood into the palm of it. He yelped and tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron.

Latin began to spill forth from her lips, each word rasping like sandpaper against Dipper’s ears. He struggled and spat, trying to kick and pull and  _ yank,  _ but her hand remained. A sharp, piercing pain shot through his hand and he wailed at the sheer feeling of it—and then blacked out completely.

When he awoke, it was with a start; normally, his heart would be beating out of his chest, pounding out a steady rhythm of nervous thudding. But it was absent, leaving him to contemplate in complete and utter silence—he shrugged it off in favour of more pressing matters. Namely, where he was.

Blinking the world into view, he realised that it was in no way, shape, or form the bookshop. It took him less than a second to feel the soft mattress beneath him, and identify the comforting weight around him as a thick, heavy quilt. He didn’t dare roll over or sit up, merely staring at the wall opposite—as best as he could, that is. The entire room was suffocatingly dark. It was possible there was no wall there at all, and the entire room just folded into the void.

He slipped a hand underneath the pillow beneath his head, trying to remember what happened. His memory was cut short after the old woman—the obvious  _ witch.  _ The weird supernatural creature that decided to pay his shop a  _ visit _ —came in and cursed him. Or at the very least mumbled Latin at him and stabbed his hand.

There was a subtle, near imperceptible creaking from the other end of the room, and Dipper bristled. He curled up tighter in the blankets, shoulders jumping up to touch his ears—there were no exits from where he could see. His best bet would be to wait until the visitor came close enough.

“Oh, no, darling. My darling little one, do not be afraid.” The voice was familiar, causing Dipper to furrow his brow in confusion. “Let me light a lamp or two, perhaps it will chase the fear away.”

Warm light, obviously from a flame, soon bathed the room in a honeysuckle glow.

“What do you want?” Dipper demanded; there was, indeed a wall opposite him. The entire room was windowless, leaving him to only guess what time of day it was. “Who are you? Why am I here?” He didn’t roll over, not yet. He couldn’t stomach it.

A soft hush greeted him, followed by the sharp sound of heels on hardwood. “Do you forget so easily? For I could not forget you come a thousand winters.” Smooth, slow, like pouring honey. Dipper desperately wanted to let it sooth him, but fought the urge. The steps grew closer and rounded the bed; Dipper drew the covers over his face.

The man—was it a man? It certainly sounded like one—cooed gently. “I’ve brought something for you. You must be starving, by now—magic does better about fending off the hunger during the change, but you will still need to feed.”

“Feed?” Dipper croaked out. “What do you mean, feed?”

“Pull the blankets down, won’t you, dear heart? Let me see that beautiful face of yours.” The request was accompanied with curious fingers plucking at the quilt. “And let me explain what’s happened to you. Come now, it won’t hurt to look at me, will it?”

Dipper considered it, for a moment. His heartbeat once again showed no signs of nervousness, leaving him feeling oddly hollow—but certainly not  _ hungry.  _ And feeding sounded so odd in this case. He let out an uncertain hum, peeking out only just enough to see the stranger.

Standing naught but two feet from Dipper was what he first considered a mirage; an impressively tall man stood as straight as a rod with a heavy goblet in his hand. Curious blue eyes stared on at Dipper, no malice present within them.

“Hello there,” the man greeted warmly, and suddenly the voice clicked in Dipper’s brain.  _ Bill.  _ The so-called prince of darkness. A great rage built in Dipper’s chest, and he threw his blankets from him in a move to sit up—before he could speak or snarl, he was being pressed back down by a single hand. Bill placed the goblet on the bedside table.

“What do you want with me?” Dipper seethed, grabbing at the hand laying on his chest; no matter how much he wiggled or moved, he couldn’t jostle it free. “What are you doing? Why did you bring me here?”

“Hush, oh hush, my sweet one,” Bill eased, taking a seat beside Dipper. “After our brief conversation, I realised that I must have you for my own. It is not often that I find someone who makes my dead heart sing like you have. I will not forego this opportunity, surely you can understand.”

Dipper bared his teeth. “If I understood, I wouldn’t be asking. Why did you bring me here?” He grabbed at the hand on his chest, trying to force it away. Bill hushed him again, slipping his hand just a bit higher, pressing his thumb to the centre of Dipper’s chest and rubbing at it.

“I brought you here, because I love you,” Bill murmured. “ _ To  _ love you. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. And so I’ve paid quite a price,  _ quite  _ a pretty penny to get you here. To give you a gift like none other. To make you like me.” His other hand slid up, cupping Dipper’s face. He smoothed his thumb across Dipper’s cheek. “So lovely.”

“I’m not marrying you,” Dipper argued. “And I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with a crazy man who’s taken me against my will.”

“I am hardly crazy,” Bill defended, lips thinning and pursing. His expression melted back into something neutral, more friendly. “I suppose you have not seen it, so I should not expect you to believe me—” He cocked his head to the side, eyes glinting red. “—I will show you.”

He removed his hand from Dipper’s chest, and Dipper instantly cowered away, up toward the headboard. Bill crooned at him gently, and then went to stand. “Do not fear me, beloved, simply let me show you.”

There was the sharp, sickening sound of bones cracking and skin tearing. Dipper pressed himself even further against the headboard in horror, watching as Bill shifted from human to… to…

Dipper swallowed, unsure of what Bill was becoming. His skin ripped and tore and turned grey—his fingers thickened and grew claws, each one sharp and unforgiving in the way they curved and shone in the firelight. Fangs longer than Dipper could have imagined sprouted behind his lips. Wings, grey and veiny, unfurled on his back—all of this was accompanied by a crest of shocking, near-white hair that travelled betwixt ears more befitting a bat then human. His clothes were mere tatters now, hanging off his near-naked torso.

He was so naked, in fact, that Dipper dared not look down.

“What…” Dipper’s mouth was dry, but his body was burning. Burning in a way he wasn’t comfortable with. “...What are you?” Dipper asked the question, but he  _ knew.  _ He knew what Bill was, despite the logic in his brain trying to fight it.

“I am a  _ vampire, _ ” Bill hissed out, every syllable proud and hungry in the way they were spoken. He carefully laid his hands on the wooden board at the end of the bed, claws clacking against it. “And you are, now, as well. I mean, you’re not nearly as impressive as I—” He cocked his head once again, in the other direction. “—But a bite would fix that. Sink my fangs into your pretty little neck and drain what humanity remains in you.”

He skulked around the side of the bed, dropping to all fours. It sounded as if a beast was padding over and Dipper bit back the urge to scream. There was a slithering behind Bill, and Dipper could only imagine it as a tail. That face, that horrendously different face popped up over the side of the bed, followed by broad muscled shoulders and thick, muscled arms. Dipper turned his head up—and once he looked Bill in the eye, he couldn’t look away.

“No need to worry just yet, dear one.” His voice was low and mellow, but a smile far too wicked for Dipper’s tastes crossed his lips. “I intend to save that for our wedding night. I see that you are frightened of this form, but you are in no danger of it.”

Dipper opened his mouth to speak, to say anything—but that burning was there, hot in his gut and limbs, weighing him down on the bed. Bill chuckled to himself, body shifting back to human with an equal amount of disgusting noises as the first transformation.

“I… uh…” Dipper swallowed, toes curling. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, wincing when he nicked it on a canine that was too sharp for his mouth. Blood didn’t well forth, and he fidgeted with the blanket in his hands.  _ He’s kind of hot as a monster? And fucking a monster is a once in a lifetime opportunity.  _ Dipper’s brain suggested, and he was surprised that it overshadowed the fact that vampires existed in the first place. “Kidnapping people is wrong,” he said instead. “And you don’t even know me.”

“I know what I desire, and I desire you,” Bill replied coolly. “You must be tired. I will let you rest now—feel free to explore your room as you wish.” He pointed off somewhere to the left. “There is a bathroom, as well as an armoire full of clothing that should fit. The goblet has warmed blood within it.” He paused, both his voice and eyes softening. “Please, if you’re hungry, drink. I don’t want you to suffer, darling.”

He cleared his throat, looking far more morose than he deserved to be, considering what he had to say. “I will have to lock the door, love. The castle is rather dangerous, and I’d rather you not wander it, in your state. If you require anything at all, there is a phone on your bedside table—simply ring the number there, and either I or one of my thralls will be here to assist you. I will be back this evening to visit you.”

And then he was gone—he didn’t simply leave; no, he  _ disappeared.  _ Vanished. Left without so much as a smoke trail. Dipper kept his eyes trained on the spot he’d been in mere seconds before, eyes stuck to the now empty space.

“What the fuck.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hey, hello there!
> 
> My wonderful beta is none other than Emberglows! 
> 
> Song(s) for this fic:  
> The Night by Voltaire  
> Shoot Him Down by Alice Francis  
> Out of Body by Gorillaz  
>    
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	2. Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there guys! Here's another chapter for yoU!
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter and feel so inclined to let me know, please leave a comment below!

 

There was no way that Dipper was going to go back to bed. Not today, not tomorrow, not in a million years. As soon as Bill was gone, he shot out of the sheets and began to pace the length of the room like a man possessed.

“Vampires?” he questioned the air around him, arms folded taut behind his back. He forced down the panic building in his chest. “Vampires are real.” He paused in his steps, slowly looking from one end of the room to the other. “Vampires are  _ real,” _ he reiterated, waiting to wake up.

When he didn’t, he unlocked his arms from behind him and pressed his palms to his eyes. “Vampires are real, and one thinks it’s… he’s… he’s in love with me. He used that little old lady that came into my store as a distraction and changed me—or did she change me? What is going on?” He remembered the biting pain that had dug into his palm with a wince. “She had to have done it, right? But can you be changed into a vampire with… with what, magic? That’s not how vampirism works.”

Dipper shifted his hands to his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.  _ Calm down,  _ he whispered inwardly.  _ Calm down and be rational about this—so what? Vampires are real. That’s fine. Vampires being real is fine—what’s not fine is being held captive.  _ Dipper jerked his head up, not realising he’d bowed it. “Gotta find a way out of here,” he whispered to himself.

The first step to an escape plan was to know your area—and in this case, Dipper’s  _ cage.  _ He slunk over to the end of the room, surprised at how well the torches lit the room. Not a corner was left dark. Just as Bill had said, there was a door a little past his bed that was closed; next to it was a thick, heavy armoire.

Dipper decided the investigate the wardrobe first. Staring up at it, he had to take a minute to admire the obvious time and effort put into carving such a monstrous furniture piece; it was made of dark,  _ dark  _ wood that Dipper couldn’t place. Flowers were carved into the front doors, stretching all the way up to the top. He slipped his fingers into the metal handles, shivering at the chill attached to them, and then gave a tug.

They opened without a sound, revealing a plethora of clothes behind them. It was mostly dark fabrics—suits and robes, no jeans or t-shirts in sight. Dipper poked through them, humming off key. “I’m guessing comfort really isn’t a thing here, unless I plan on walking around in jammies.” He kneeled and opened the drawers beneath the major cabinet. The first one revealed nothing but socks and underwear, and the second had a collection of dress shoes that were just his size. A cold chill worked down his spine, and he shuddered.

He poked around through the undergarments for awhile longer, before turning his head to cough; his throat was rapidly becoming drier and drier with each moment that he was awake. Dipper turned his head ever-so-slight toward the goblet on the bedside table, and then snapped it back to stare at the space in front of him. If he truly was a vampire, there was blood in that goblet. And if he were  _ truly  _ a vampire, and a newly changed one, he would be getting ravenous about now.

“That is, if that’s really a vampire thing,” Dipper muttered. He shouldn’t rely on pop culture to define an actual, real life vampire. If that’s what he really was. His feet were bringing him over to the goblet; looking closer, it had an almost silver sheen to it underneath a layer of gold—it could just be wear and tear, but if it really  _ was  _ silver…

Dipper was right up on it now, looking down at the thick, red liquid inside. A sharp pain shot through his mouth—he curled his fists against it, biting down and clacking his newly formed fangs together. A hunger panged in his stomach at the end of it.

The scent of the blood inside the goblet reached his nose now, and Dipper had to admit that it was the most fantastic thing he’d ever gotten a whiff of. It smelled both savoury and sweet, promising a lovely taste. Once the pain receded, he could tell that his mouth was watering at the mere idea of drinking it.

“This is so gross,” Dipper muttered, pressing a single finger to the outside of the cup. It looked like it was plucked straight from a fairy-tale, beset with heavy gems and Celtic braids circling the rim. It didn’t sting as he traced the designs, so he carefully wrapped his fingers around the heavy head of the cup. One thing was certain, if he truly was a vampire. Without blood, he wouldn’t be able to think straight. A fuzzy head did little to aid in an escape plan.

Whatever Dipper had thought the blood was going to taste like was blown out of the water at the actual flavour. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t even begin to. It was the sort of delicious that actually pulled a soft  _ moan  _ from him as he literally chugged the liquid. It soothed the itching, scratching dryness in his throat within seconds. Not only that, but any traces of hunger were  _ gone.  _ His head began to buzz happily with the drink as he pulled away the empty cup, panting for breath he’d never catch.

His tongue darted out to catch some blood that had clung to his lip, lapping up the extra droplets eagerly. Dipper carefully placed the goblet back on the side table, arms shaking. He let himself bathe in the feeling of fullness—and not just fullness. Rightness. Every inch of him felt  _ fantastic.  _ And then feeling fell, being replaced with absolute disgust.

“That was  _ blood, _ ” Dipper stated through gritted teeth. It was  _ definitely _ blood. It was only a cupful, meaning he hadn’t drank an entire  _ person,  _ but he didn’t have faith in the idea that the owner was still alive somewhere. He felt filthy, even if he understood his own reasoning behind it.

Straightening, Dipper looked at the door beside the armoire. Bill had said there was a bathroom inside—he didn’t like being kidnapped. He didn’t understand Bill, nor his true intentions. And he certainly didn’t understand what he’d said or done that made it seem like he was even  _ remotely  _ interested in any sort of relationship with him. But that didn’t mean he was going to blatantly ignore the amenities provided him, clothes included. And currently, there was nothing more he wanted than a shower.

The bathroom was entirely too beach-themed for Dipper’s taste. He’d opened the door and the overwhelming scent of sandalwood and sea invaded his senses; someone had sprayed the entire thing with enough air freshener to cover the smell of a boy’s locker room in the summer. Dipper resisted the urge to hold his non-existent breath, taking in the rest of the bathroom with a critical eye.

All of the furniture was made of wicker; the small stool beside the clawfoot tub, the standing cabinets lining the walls—wicker. Sea glass crawled up the walls in a dazzling array of colours toward a groin vaulted ceiling, creating a mural of ships coasting toward an amber coloured sunset. He found it odd how there were electric lights in  _ this  _ room, yet torches in the main bedroom. It just didn’t make sense not to use electric for the both of them—but, he supposed, that would take from the drama of it.

Dipper tried to ignore how utterly  _ cliché  _ the room happened to be in favour of searching through the cabinets; he found plush towels and washcloths of varying colours, shampoos, conditioners and body wash—there was even a nice stash of bubble baths tucked right at the front of the tub. They were all packed neatly in tinted glass bottles and hand-labelled by someone who’d had more time with a quill than Dipper could ever devote.

He drew a bath, making it hot enough to make the room muggy and the mirror fog over. Bubble bath was poured into the water as it flooded the tub, creating a thick, soapy outer layer to the water—Dipper cracked a smile as he sat the bottle back down. It clinked almost happily against the tile.

Dipper carefully drew his fingers through the bubbles, messing with them and watching them melt as he did so. The sweet, cloying smell of strawberries floated up through from the tub, filling the room and bullying for space with the already powerful scents. “God, that smells good,” he muttered, pulling the nightshirt he’d been dressed in off and tossing it to his floor—his pants and underwear came next, and he tried not to think of someone he didn’t know dressing him.

The bath was just what Dipper needed. He soaked in the tub for a good hour, letting idea after idea flood his brain. He picked each apart, searching for something foolproof—it was obvious he was dealing with a monster. A  _ literal  _ monster. Whatever plan that Dipper came up with would have to be flawless. He couldn’t risk being caught in trying to escape, as he couldn’t be confident that Bill wouldn’t punish him for it. Or just straight up kill him.

For now, he would bide his time, earn Bill’s trust. Learn the castle, learn where he was—his brain was his greatest weapon, and he would use it to the best of his ability to get out of this place.

It was hours later that Bill returned; Dipper was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall opposite. A door creaked open behind him, but Dipper didn’t turn to look.

“I see you’re awake,” Bill purred out, heels once again clicking against the stone flooring. “And you’ve bathed—I hope the clothes are to your liking?”

Dipper flicked his eyes to watch as Bill rounded the bed, one of his hands holding a goblet similar to the one Dipper had been left earlier, as well as a silver plate of—he flinched away from it— _ meat.  _ Raw meat, bloody and fresh. Dipper only noticed the fork as it was set on the bedside table. Bill tilted forward, smile growing when he realised Dipper had finished off the goblet of blood as well.

“My dear, you ate as well.” His voice was so chipper it had Dipper shrinking back. Bill set the goblet down as well, going to wrap Dipper into a hug—Dipper flinched backward, causing Bill to pause. “Of course, you must still be afraid. Here, eat.” He picked the plate and goblet back up to offer it to Dipper.

“I don’t want to eat raw meat,” he told Bill, even though a curious gnawing had begun in his stomach. “Who does this blood belong to?” 

Bill let out an uncertain hum, handing Dipper the goblet. He took it carefully in his palms and it was impossible to miss the look of relief on Bill’s face. “No one you know, I promise. I would never hurt you like that, love.”

“Why did you do all this?” Dipper asked next, the question leaving him before he could stop it. “What’s your end goal?  _ How  _ did you do all this?” He pointed to himself, shifting the goblet to one hand.

“So many questions,” Bill teased, reaching a hand out to play with one of the prominent curls shadowing Dipper’s forehead. “I did this, because I love you.” Dipper tried not to shift away when Bill took a seat beside him, offering a hand. He looked at it a moment, then slowly offered his in exchange. “My end goal is to make you the happiest man in the known universe.”

Dipper’s cheeks heated, and he felt he couldn’t look at Bill—soft lips pressed against his knuckles in a gentle kiss. “Darling, sweetheart. Do you really want to know how this happened? We could live happily without discussing the semantics.” Kisses continued own the back of his hand, trying to be soothing.

“I’d rather know,” Dipper replied, keeping his voice neutral.

Bill let out a soft, unhappy sigh.

“It was a witch. No doubt you remember.” He flipped Dipper’s hand over, pressing his tongue flatly against Dipper’s wrist. “I paid her to transform you into a vampire using the dark arts—it was so you didn’t have to suffer, love. The pain would have been tremendous if I were to bite you.” Fangs nicked Dipper’s wrists at the word  _ bite.  _ “But the magic wouldn’t have worked if we weren’t meant to be.”

_ Bullshit.  _ “Really?” Dipper questioned, cocking an eyebrow. Bill lifted his head and nodded, entwining their fingers.

“Really. And I promise I will take care of you. I promise I will  _ love  _ you. Forever.” He squeezed Dipper’s hand, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth and looking an unfair amount of precious. “I will give you a life that you can only imagine. One that no mortal man or woman would ever be able to give you—I can make you happy.”

“I can’t be happy without my sister,” Dipper told him, finding his answer honest and true.

Bill’s eye twitched, and then he cleared his throat. “I… have a plan for her to join us,” He revealed, looking up at Dipper through his eyelashes. “If you settle quickly, then I see no reason not to go forth with my plans—I wasn’t going to leave her behind, Dipper. The thought never crossed my mind.” He took his free hand, bringing it up to draw his knuckles down the side of his face.

“After we’re married, of course,” he tacked on, cupping Dipper’s cheek. He brushed his thumb over the dark freckles there, and chuckled. “You’re so handsome.”

“What are you planning on doing to my sister?” Dipper whispered, feeling rage push itself up into his throat. Bill hushed him, pressing his index finger to Dipper’s lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “She will be safe and cared for until she joins us.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Dipper’s forehead, taking advantage of the shocked look on his face. “I have no doubt that you’re frustrated, being trapped in this room by yourself. But you’re going to have to stay in here just a tad longer—at least until our wedding day. Don’t worry about that either—it shall be soon.”

Bill stood, straightening his suit. “You should eat.” He pointed at the plate. “And drink more. Your body is weak, currently, which is why we cannot proceed with the final bite to allow you a form like myself. That was the price of the magic—your transformation must be done in parts.”

“I’m not eating raw meat,” Dipper reiterated. “It’s gross.”

“You will eat,” Bill snapped, tongue clicking off the roof of his mouth dryly. “I know it seems gross now, but you’ll feel so much better after you eat. I would serve it cooked, but raw is better for your system.” His heels clicked together as he fully straightened. “I will bring a few books for you, in the meantime. Do you have any requests?”

Dipper racked his brain, trying to think of something. “I… I was in the middle of reading  _ Inferno _ , by Dante. I also wanted to read the  _ Immoralists  _ and  _ the Pillars of the Earth _ , if you have it.” He’d answered without thinking, genuinely perplexed at the idea of  _ not  _ having something to read all of the sudden. He was liable to go mad, without something to do.

“Very well,” Bill replied, turning from Dipper, but not fast enough so that his smile was missed. “I will send someone with your selection—as well as a few I think you might like.” And then, like earlier—he was  _ gone.  _ Not even in a cloud of smoke. Just  _ gone  _ with no rational explanation.

“I don’t get it. And I don’t like it,” Dipper muttered to the air around him. “I don’t want this,” he reminded no one in particular, as if anything would change because of it. He drew his legs up on the bed underneath him, brow creasing and lips pressing into a deep frown. “God, I hope Mabel’s okay.”

Dipper pressed his face into his hands. “Please let Mabel be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> Beta'd by the very lovely Emberglows--we owe her a grand hand for all the work she does, and the time she takes to help me make this presentable!
> 
> Song for this fic:  
> Kill! Kill! Kill! by The Pierces  
> Acid by Ghost Town  
> Just Like You by Falling In Reverse
> 
>  
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at long last! Here is the third and final chapter of Mediocris: The Shopkeep and the Vampire
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read-- if you enjoy, please leave a comment below!

 

Dipper was drinking blood daily now. He’d even become partial to the raw, bloody meat that Bill served him several days out of the week. But he wasn’t fond of Bill, all the same. 

“Are you ready, my darling?” Bill asked; he ran a hand through Dipper’s hair, playing with his curls. “I am. I’m ready to take you as my own.” Dipper shuddered at his words, thoroughly creeped out with his behaviour. 

“Not… really?” Dipper replied. He didn’t move away from the touch—he was borderline comfortable with the creepy, constant touching. Bill clicked his tongue softly and pulled his hand away. He hauled himself up off the bed and folded his arms behind his back.

Bill began to pace. “The full moon rises this week—we must wed tomorrow.” He stopped and his heels clicked together. “And I will have to take you, my sweet little star. I would rather not fight you, on this, but it must be done.”

Dipper’s blood (what little of it he had left) went cold.

“Dipper, I can promise you all the pleasure in the world. I can give you that, Dipper. I just need you to submit to me.” He turned his head, only slightly. Dipper could see the regal, sharp slant of his nose and his pursed lips. “Can you do that for me, little star? If you do, I can return the favor tenfold.”

Dipper let his eyes fall to the floor, staring at Bill’s shiny, pristine oxfords. He barely knew Bill. And as attractive as Bill happened to be, he wasn’t ready to be fucked by him. But it didn’t sound like Bill was going to give him a choice. The idea of being pinned down, of being fucked against his will—it gave him chills. He wrapped his arms around himself.

Bill clicked his tongue again. “Please consider making this easier on both of us, little one.” He turned back to him. “I have given you time to adjust. I have no more to spare—we will wed, and then I will take you to our marriage bed. Then, if you’ve still a qualm with our relationship, I can return you to this room. But I would love to wake up to see you beside me, fangs extended, ready to meet the moon. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” His eyes were soft. “Wouldn’t that be  _ wonderful _ ?”

“Why do we need to have sex for the magic to work?” Dipper asked, wrapping his arms tight around his legs. Bill looked at him, considering his question. He didn’t answer, letting his eyes travel over Dipper’s contorted form.

“Why does the idea of sleeping with me disgust you so?”

“You kidnapped me?” Dipper suggested. His brows drew tight together. “You… you’re talking about forcing yourself on me, if I don’t say yes?”

Bill’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I just want to show you there’s nothing to fear. I want you to know how much enjoyment our coupling can provide.”

“I can promise you, whether or not I agree, I will  _ not  _ enjoy it,” Dipper said, voice flat. Bill’s eyebrow twitched and his mouth dipped down into a frown. “Not until I’m comfortable—and it’s going to be a  _ long  _ time before I’m comfortable. So, if we’re really meant to be, and you really care about my happiness, you’d wait. Otherwise the only person you’re thinking about is yourself.”

Bill gritted his teeth. And then his jaw relaxed, as well as the rest of his features. The softened considerably before he spoke. “Of course,” he agreed softly. He looked down. “I was… rash, in my reasoning. I shouldn’t touch you if you don’t desire said touch. We will proceed with the ceremony, and the bite, and then we will feast instead—I will warn you, you will also have to drink from me.”

Dipper relaxed, but only slightly. “From… you?” He looked up, noticing the pale of Bill’s neck sticking out of his collar. “Why?”

“You need to drink the blood of a full-fledged vampire, of course. There’s no need to worry, it will come naturally to you.” Bill’s arms unlocked from behind his back. His long fingers stretched forward to brush the collar of Dipper’s shirt, but they didn’t touch his skin. Simply straightened his shirt a hair. “No matter how stunning you may be now, there will be nothing to compare your beauty to, when I am finished with you.”

“Being beautiful isn’t at the top of my list,” Dipper replied, words lukewarm. Bill gave him a smile. “It never has been. I don’t want any of this.”

Bill clicked his tongue. “But you do. You’re meant for it.” He drew his fingers down the front of Dipper’s shirt; Dipper could barely feel the pressure of them against the cloth, and that somehow made it worse. Bill then withdrew his hand, smile still present. “We’re meant to be, Dipper. I know it’s hard to process. I really,  _ honestly  _ do.” The fingers moved back up, smoothing away invisible wrinkles. “Hasn’t my kindness been enough to prove that to you?”

Dipper wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t consider being kidnapped to be  _ kindness.  _ It was more like being a prison than anything else. A gilded cage was still a cage—prison bars were just as strong, coated in gold. Dipper didn’t like it, not a bit. No, this definitely wasn’t kindness.

Lucky for him, Bill had no interest in an answer. His fingers crept up to cup his jaw, tilting it slightly upward to face him. A gloved thumb brushed his chin, and then nudged at his bottom lip.

“After tomorrow, we will be married,” Bill whispered. “Bound to each other by the bonds of matrimony. An exciting day to be sure.” His eyes searched Dipper’s. “How I long to kiss you.”

Before Dipper could protest, Bill dipped forward—and then he paused, mouth less than an inch from Dipper’s. Dipper’s teeth clacked together, becoming a graveyard of polished white teeth behind his quivering lips.

“Let me?” Bill asked. Dipper expected a brush of breath against his mouth, but there was none. Dipper swallowed—he didn’t want to be kissed, but he nodded his head all the same. It moved without his permission. He stepped back, only to be wrapped in a tight, crushing embrace. Cold lips pressed against his and fingers wound into his already messy hair, keeping him in place.

Dipper’s eyelids fluttered as he was manhandled into the kiss, head tilting into the hand in his hair until it was just cupping his head instead of holding it in place. Bill pulled away after a minute or so, fangs glinting in the light of the room. Dipper’s brows furrowed as he was released. Bill’s tongue, pink and fat with blood not his own, licked across his lips in satisfaction.

“Hey,” Dipper squeaked as a hand slid down, hooking around his hip and dragging him forward.

“Your lips are just the slightest bit swollen,” Bill murmured, pressing his index finger against Dipper’s lip. “It makes you look… irresistible. I want to kiss you silly, don’t you know?”

Dipper swallowed. “I figured,” he muttered in response. Bill kissed at the corner of his mouth.

“Two kisses? A record,” Bill teased. “Normal courting—courting that I’m familiar with—involves so many more. Wandering hands, wandering  _ mouths.  _ But we have hundreds of years for our courtship. Two kisses is acceptable.” His hands left Dipper, pulling away and finding their place tucked behind his back.

“I will send someone to assist in your dressing, tomorrow morning,” Bill told him, lips barely moving with his words. He was so coldly elegant. It was shudder-worthy. “After all, one cannot see the bride before they walk down the aisle.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, you are no bride. But I like to keep the tradition.”

Dipper nodded, trying not to show his nervousness. It failed, of course.

After Bill left, Dipper collapsed against the bed. He wanted to cry, wanted to  _ scream.  _ Wanted to pitch the biggest fit in the world. But he didn’t. Dipper folded his hands together and then pinned them between his knees, trying to think.

He’d searched every inch of the room. He’d poked and prodded and desperately tried to find some sort of… escape. But there was  _ nothing.  _ No weakness. The door never opened. He was stuck in the dark, away from the world. And he  _ still  _ didn’t know what had happened to his sister. Bill had hinted at her fate, bragged about her safety. But he never fully revealed where she was.

“I think I’m stuck,” Dipper whispered to himself, eyes wide and dry. “I’m going to get married to a vampire, tomorrow. And he’s going to—” One of his hands slid up to rub at his neck. “—He’s going to bite me. Change me. Can I… leave after that? Run?” He closed his eyes and took a deep, stabilising breath. He didn’t think he could. Dipper was surprised that his heart wasn’t thudding in his chest—but then he realised that it was half-dead, and  _ that  _ was why.

He took another deep breath. He let it settle over him like a weighted blanket, shoving down his fears and replacing them with cool, level-headed patience. He rocked his feet against the floor, feeling the stone smooth beneath his feet. There was nothing to do but wait.

 

Seeing another person— _ any  _ sort of person—shocked Dipper. The next morning, when he was dragged from his room by thin, twitchy women that were a tad too pale for his liking. They didn’t speak to him, merely dragged him to a bath he was unfamiliar with.

A large, deep tub awaited him. It was so hot it sent wisps of steam up into the air. Clawed iron and porcelain feet sat heavy against the floor—it was a burnished copper, beautiful against the cream and golden coloring of the room. He was stripped of his clothes and then ushered toward the tub.

“Is this water safe?” Dipper asked as he stepped in. Every hair on his body stood up at the first touch. He got no answer, so instead he sat down, letting the water drown his fuzzy, full thoughts. He let it wash away the questions that began to flood his mind. There were so many things to question. But none of it felt like it mattered, not today.

Today was his wedding day.

Thinking about it was weird. Attempting to say it out loud left him choking. He couldn’t say it aloud. It was nothing short of ridiculous. He couldn’t be getting married—not without his family, not without his sister at his side, bubbly and happy for him. Yet here Dipper was.

One of his hands was taken from him. His nails were manicured whilst his hair was washed with soap that not only felt expensive, but  _ smelled  _ expensive too. It was thick, creamy, and luxurious. He allowed himself to relax against the tub. There was something nice about being spoiled.

Once Dipper was properly washed, he was tugged from the tub and dried with a towel of exquisite softness. Gentle, soothing strokes wicked away the water easily. The silence should’ve unsettled him, but it didn’t. It was almost meditative, allowing to slip further away from the reality of the situation. Numbing himself to it in the only way he knew how, even as smooth silk was layered over his skin and cologne was dabbled to the insides of his wrists. 

Dipper was in a daze, by the time he was led out of the room—the sound of his shoes against the floor was what snapped him out of it. They were hard against the stone flooring, clacking noisily—he needed to pay attention to his surroundings. He’d never been outside his room before. He needed to take in as much information about the castle as possible before he was shoved back inside.

He didn’t know much about architecture, but he did notice the distinct lack of windows. Maybe he was deep inside the castle. Maybe Bill had built the building himself, taking care to not let  _ any  _ sunlight inside. Or moonlight, for that matter. Windows with curtains was just asking for it—they could be brushed aside easily, leaving him exposed or unable to cross a room. No, windows were a terrible idea in general, if you were a vampire.

“How beautiful.”

Bill’s words rang through the chapel as Dipper stepped inside warily. The women, who had guarded him so carefully, fled like startled cockroaches, slamming the double doors behind them as they went. Dipper jumped at the sudden, echoing sound. It bounced off the walls around him and he shrunk down into himself, staring at the curved ceilings, dotted with alcoves, in mild fear.

Dipper’s fear didn’t last long, quickly morphing into… he wasn’t sure  _ what  _ this emotion was. Apprehension? Confusion? A mix of the two?

There was a single person sitting in the pews, back to him. Their hair was thick and a rich caramel color, much like his own. His heart offered a weak stutter at the sight and his mouth creaked open to whisper a name—and then it shut. His feet dragged forward, possessed by the idea that it might be, that it  _ could  _ be, his sister.

“Dipper, darling, over here,” Bill teased. Dipper ignored him, letting his feet reluctantly pull him to the pew where the person sat, still as a statue. He laid a shaking hand on the back of the pew.

“Mabel?” Dipper asked softly. He reached a hand out to touch her cheek, and found it hot to the touch. No, not just hot. Scorching. She was burning up. “Mabel?” he asked again. This time panic overtook him. Dipper reached out a hand to shake her shoulder, to try and drag her out of whatever trance she’d been forced into.

Bill let out a huff. “She can’t respond,” he told Dipper. He smiled when Dipper whipped his head around to glare at him. Bill held up both of his hands.  _ Scars.  _ There were scars over every inch of his hands—had Dipper never noticed them? He couldn’t remember.

“What’d you do to her?” Dipper demanded, not leaving his sister’s side for a second. “I swear to God, Bill, you tell me what you did to her—”

“—I can’t tell you if you don’t let me speak,” Bill interjected, tone brisk. “Nothing I’ve done will harm her. Now come here.”

Dipper let out a shaking, forceful breath, nostrils flaring. “What did you do?” he asked, voice dipping low. Any idea of playing along until he could escape was flung out the window.

“She’s simply frozen in time. In a way, at least. She can hear you. See you. See this.” Bill swept his arms over the chapel, as if the grandness of it was supposed to impress Dipper. “See her twin brother get married. I thought it would be a welcome gesture—she’s not quite ready either, my dear. It’s unfortunate, but she’ll join us soon enough.”

“What do you mean, not ready?”

“Dipper, there’s time for questions later.” Bill was becoming agitated, but Dipper couldn’t care less. “Come here. We’ve more important things to deal with at present.”

Dipper’s fingers curled into fists and he pointed at Mabel. “No, we  _ don’t.  _ Mabel is the most  _ important  _ thing in this room that we need to deal with. You’re going to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing, right, fucking,  _ now. _ ” He stomped his foot to emphasize his point.

Before Dipper could blink, he was being dragged from beside the pew and tossed to the floor in front of the empty stage where a preacher would normally stand. He writhed in Bill’s grip, howling when his hand was shoved to the side and his neck was bared to the monster above him.

“I’m so terribly sorry.” Bill hushed him, staring at his unmarked neck. “But you’re so worked up, it’s not worth trying to calm you down. We can discuss the state of your sister’s being after we feast. By then, you’ll have acclimated to the blood in your system, and the hunger. Again, I am so sorry, darling. I hope you’ll come to understand that I’ve only done this out of love for you.”

The next thing Dipper knew was pain. Two knees pinned tightly to his sides as fangs drove deep into his neck. His back arched and his mouth opened in a silent, wretched scream. He wanted to shove at Bill, but it was like he was paralysed. A hand smoothed through his hair, a useless attempt at soothing him.

“It’s alright,” Bill whispered when he pulled away. Wet, warm drops of blood dripped down and left crimson puddles on Dipper’s cheeks, smothering any and all freckles that stood in their way. “It’s alright, my love. They’ll begin to hurt now, and you must give in to your desire.”

Lips found Dipper’s cheek, transforming the blood from drops and puddles to a lake of blood, albeit a shallow one. Dipper yanked his face away, trying to find a breath as he felt his throat tighten. His teeth ached like he’d taken a bite of ice cream. The ache soon became a shooting pain and he cried out.

He felt his head guided to Bill’s neck. He blearily stared at the bone-white skin, unable to focus. Dipper wanted to bite down. His instincts told him that that would make him feel better. That blood would soothe the throbbing ache that had now travelled from his mouth to his neck—he knew it would travel farther, if he let it.

“Drink,” Bill encouraged. “Drink from me, love. You want to. I can feel it. You need to.” He pressed a kiss to Dipper’s temple.

A hiss left him as Dipper did as he was told, sinking his fangs deep into the side of Bill’s neck. He was  _ right.  _ The pain immediately ceased as blood trickled down his throat, lighting up his senses. A moan left him and he felt it echoed by Bill. A soft cascade of the word  _ yes  _ fell upon his ears, and he dug his fangs in further, drinking down as much of the blood as he possibly could.

_ We need it,  _ his body sung to him.  _ We need him. _

Him. Bill. Bill had done this to him. Bill was, in the most cliche wording possible, his  _ sire. _

Dipper growled as he was tugged back, unwilling to unclamp. Bill laughed softly, before using one of his hands to grab at the bottom of Dipper’s chin and give it a wiggle. It popped free and Dipper hissed, trying to blink the world into focus. But it  _ wouldn’t  _ focus. Instead, it was turning black. He was going to pass out.

“That’s it, easy now,” Bill told him softly. “Off to sleep with you. You’ve deserved a long,  _ long  _ rest. A few years, at the least.” Bill shifted, letting Dipper use his thigh as a pillow. “I’ll have a feast prepared for us, by then. Don’t you worry.”

“Years?” Dipper whispered out, trying to keep a grip on reality. On the here and now. He didn’t  _ want  _ to sleep for years. “Bill, I don’t—”

Bill hushed him. “Quiet now, love. Sleep.  _ Rest.  _ You deserve it, don’t you? Perhaps you’ll wake with a better attitude?” He broke off to laugh quietly to himself.

Dipper wanted to argue, but he found that his mouth no longer wanted to cooperate. His heart slowed, his lungs struggled to fill with air—he was dying. But it didn’t hurt. He supposed that it wasn’t supposed to hurt, not like normal dying would. His eyes fluttered closed as his breathing became steadily more ragged, until he was barely getting a wisp of air in with each one.

Bill leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Dipper’s forehead.

“Goodnight, my little star.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm, sailing away,  
> Set an open course, for the vIRGIN SEA.
> 
> Hi there! Thank you for taking the time to read. Welcome to the end of this chapter, and the end of this fic!
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


End file.
